


Non-Deviant Stress?

by catgrl106



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, past dissociation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23642749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catgrl106/pseuds/catgrl106
Summary: Connor and Hank are finishing up a quiet day at the precinct a little under a month after the revolution, when Hank thinks to wonder what a 100% stress level would have looked like in a non-deviant android. I mean, specifying that deviants self-destructed when they hit their limit implies that non-deviants do something else, right?
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 146





	Non-Deviant Stress?

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first fic I've written since middle school (and I'm out of college now), since I usually don't have the patience to try and type out my thoughts (yay for ADD!). But since I'm stuck at home with nothing to do but work, eat, sleep, and play video games due to the COVID-19 quarantine, I figured I'd give writing a try. Please be kind! And I hope you enjoy it.

It was a quiet day at the precinct, a little under a month after the revolution. Connor was still partnered with Hank (much to his relief, he hadn’t even been sure he’d be allowed to stay with the DPD, much less work with Hank), and things were currently calm in Detroit, though Connor didn’t expect it to stay that way for much longer. 

The androids had settled into their new living space, though technically they were squatting in an abandoned apartment complex, but Markus, with some help from Connor and Josh, was working to make the building officially owned by the androids as the New Jericho headquarters. Humans had long since returned to the city as well, and seemed to be keeping to themselves, as though unwilling thus far to test where the new limits were. Most, at least. There were still some human on android crimes, most due to anti-android bigotry, which was why a new android crimes division had been created in the DPD, headed by Hank and Connor of course because, as Hank put it, “Who the fuck else is gonna give a crap?” 

Still, peace was generally being maintained for the time being, and it had been a quiet week, which led to Connor and Hank sitting at the precinct, essentially twiddling their thumbs while they waited for either the day to end or a new case to come in. Connor had been stealthily researching some new plants he intended to sneak into Hank’s house when he noticed the Lieutenant give a large, irritated sigh, and stand up, stretching to reduce the tension in his back from the long hours of sitting, and wander over to the filing cabinets full of the closed cases they’d had since just before the start of the revolution. Distracted from his research, Connor watched Hank idly thumb through the files, before pulling out a few marked with black stickers, the shorthand they’d used when sorting the files to show the case either involved or resulted in the death of an android. 

Connor fully shifted his attention from his computer to his friend in concern; it seemed odd for Hank to choose those files as reading material when they only had a couple of quiet hours left in the day. 

“Don’t look at me like that, just figured I’d get set up for tomorrow,” Hank said, noticing Connor’s attention and rolling his eyes. He ambled back to their desks with the files, rearranging their order in a way Connor didn’t yet bother to analyze, choosing instead to focus on Hank’s expression and body language. The Lieutenant didn’t seem distressed, per se, but he did seem... frustrated? Disquieted? Connor’s social programing struggled to analyze precisely what Hank was expressing, likely indicating the presence of conflicting emotions, causing Connor to sigh quietly to himself. 

“Fowler mentioned starting some kinda... sensitivity training or somethin’ to make sure everyone knows how to talk to and interact with androids goin’ forward, now that you’re legally considered people. And maybe just to prevent folks from claiming they didn’t know better if they get it in their heads to act on any remaining bigotry,” Hank continued, splitting his attention between Connor and the files Hank was still sorting. “Figured it might be good to take a look at what’s caused androids to get hurt due to cop action before, as a starting place. Like,” here, Hank paused, pulling an older file from the stack, eyes glancing over it to refamiliarize himself with the details, “this case, with your buddy Markus. From the report, it looks like Markus is the one who put in the call to 911 asking for help, but the cops opened fire on him right after they arrived. Doubt there’s a good reason for that.” 

Connor tilted his head to one side, absorbing the information. He knew of the incident that Hank was referring to, knew that it was what led to Markus joining Jericho, and knew that Hank was correct in his assumption that the case involved bigotry and police brutality. Indeed, the Lieutenant's suggestion of using their co-worker's failings as a training tool to help prevent them from making the same mistakes in the future seemed wise, for all that it would be incredibly unpleasant to go through the files. After all, Connor had directly assisted in the attempted (and occasionally successful) capture of multiple androids, and even if few of them died, he knew the case involving Ortiz, and the android Connor had helped to capture would be in the file. He had put the sticker on the file himself after finding it in the cleanup, thinking about how the android had wound up self-destructing in the holding bay in front of Connor’s own eyes, proving that the humans at the precinct weren’t the only ones to engage in behavior that had led to the deaths of innocent androids. 

And despite the fact that Ortiz’s android (it still made a part of Connor’s processor shudder every time he thought of the poor android that way, presumably having died without ever picking a name for himself), had killed a man, the android couldn’t really be considered guilty, due to the amount of abuse he had suffered, the fact that the murder was an act of self-defense, and the fact that the android had deviated in the middle of the encounter, a mental state which congress had finally agreed to be considered “altered”, stating that androids couldn’t be held accountable for the actions before or immediately surrounding their deviation. 

Throughout all this pondering, Hank slowed and stopped his rifling through the files and stared at Connor, noticing the growing speed at which his blue LED was spinning, and the way flashes of yellow seemed to splash in, in growing frequency. Huffing out another sigh with a grimace, he tossed the last few files in his hands (the others having been added to Hank’s desk while he was sorting) at Connor’s face, settling into his chair and snorting at Connor as he fumbled to catch the files before they ended up on the floor. 

“Quit freaking out, I can tell your thinkin’ about the cases we worked. You didn’t deviate until the last night of the revolution, so anything you did was under orders and out of your control.” Connor frowned, and opened his mouth, but Hank cut him off before he could argue the point, “I know you’re gonna feel guilty regardless, but for all you were happy to ignore what I told you to do or not do, you were just as helpless against what Cyberlife told you to do before you deviated as any other android was against the owners who hurt them. I’m not fighting you on this right now”. 

Grumbling quietly to himself, Connor settled back in his chair, glancing through the files that Hank and tossed him. He was guiltily relieved to note that none of the cases he held were ones that he and Hank had been assigned to, though perhaps that was just to prevent any issues resulting from conflict of interest. Connor pause, thinking it through again while side-eyeing Hank, and snorted. Hank didn’t tend to give much thought to conflict of interest, it was far more likely he was trying to keep Connor from thinking any more about the prospect of his own guilt regarding the actions before his deviation. It was a topic they were never quite able to agree on. 

For a time, it was quiet, as both Lieutenant and Detective settled in to review the cases and make notes on topics they should bring up to include in the training. Connor dedicated a portion of his attention to keeping an eye on both of their stress levels, due to the grim nature of their reading material, and mused to himself as he worked on the likely motivations Fowler had for putting together this training. The police Captain did not strike Connor as one who fully believed that androids were alive. Rather, he seemed to be pragmatic enough to not let his personal beliefs influence the decisions he made at work. Nonetheless, Connor was grateful that the Captain was supporting the cause, as it would be much harder to hold people accountable for future actions of harm against androids if the police were part of the problem. 

Connor was startled out of his thoughts by an odd twitch from Hank. He glanced up, noticing the odd contemplative frown on the Lieutenant's face. 

“Something wrong Hank?” Connor inquired. Hank’s stress-levels hadn’t elevated much yet, but he’d prefer to be safe by asking, rather than ignore his friend’s possible distress. 

“Hmmm... not wrong, exactly,” Hank mused, scratching at his check while still staring at the report he held, before glancing up to meet Connor’s eyes. “It’s just... I remember you said before that if a deviant’s stress level gets too high, they self-destruct, yeah?” 

Connor furrowed his brows and nodded. This was an odd place to start the conversation, Connor knew Hank already knew the answer to that question. 

“So, to say that’s what happens to deviants means non-deviant's have a stress level too, right?” Hank continued. 

Connor only nodded again, confused at the actual question Hank was attempting to ask. When Connor didn’t speak, Hank huffed a quiet sigh and motioned with his hand, “So what happens to a non-deviant when their stress level gets too high?” 

Connor shifted backwards. He felt... confused? But also vaguely uncomfortable, though he couldn’t understand why “What bearing does this have on the current project?” Connor asked “most androids now are already deviated, and the law dictates that upon a non-deviated android being discovered, they are to be taken to New Jericho to assist in their deviation.” 

Hank rubbed a hand up and down across his face. “I suppose it doesn’t necessarily got anything to do with this, but I had the thought so I figured I’d ask. Plus, we can’t guarantee all androids will react the same way to stress, especially now that they won’t be killed for being found to be deviant. Things that drive stress levels up might not feel life or death enough that anyone with high stress levels will self-destruct, but they might hurt themselves or something. You don’t gotta tell me if it makes you uncomfortable though. Wasn’t even sure if Cyberlife woulda told you about it.” 

Connor drew his quarter from his pocket, just to fidget with it without doing any tricks. “It’s not that it makes me uncomfortable, I don’t think. It’s just an odd subject. Cyberlife didn’t tell me about it, it’s true, but they didn’t need to, because I experienced it myself.” 

Hank’s head shot up as he sat to attention at that information. “It did?! When did that happen? I don’t remember you acting particularly panicked or anything.” 

Connor gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Of course you wouldn’t have, the whole point of being non-deviant is not having emotions. When a non-deviant's stress level goes too high, they don’t break down the way deviant's do, they get... quiet. Machine-like.” 

“Huh,” Hank mused staring at Connor like he was trying to run one of Connor’s analysis subroutines. 

“It’s not an easy sensation for me to describe; my memory of the events is rather faulty, like it was improperly saved and is partially corrupted,” Connor continued, “Which I had originally thought was intentionally done, to limit the chances of software instability. I still remember little before my first field test. But the odd fuzziness continued after my first field test, and even for the events after I was partnered with the DPD.” 

“Wait,” Hank interrupted, “You gotta give me a timeline or something, here. I hadn’t known a thing aboutcha before you showed up at Jimmy’s. And what do ya mean about not remembering stuff before your field test?” 

“Ah, ok,” Connor considered, head tilting to the side as he tried to consider the best way to explain. “So, my field test was August 15th, you might have heard about a deviant holding a young girl hostage on the 70th floor of an apartment building?” 

Hank nodded. “Yeah, vaguely remember that. There was something special about the negotiator they had on site...” Hank frowned, mumbling to himself before he finally put two and two together and realized, “You were the negotiator?” 

“Yes. As it was my first field test, the technicians at Cyberlife had wiped all of my memories, and simply uploaded any factual knowledge they thought might be relevant for the case.” 

“Fuck,” Hank breathed, eyes wide as he considered that idea. “I can’t imagine going into that kinda situation with all the life experience of a baby, even if I had a supercomputer of technical know-how in my brain. That shit’s traumatizing even for veteran cops.” 

“... Yes,” Connor agreed, glancing to the side to avoid having to maintain eye contact with the Lieutenant. He knew there was no reason to feel ashamed, but that didn’t seem to stop the emotion. “Which is likely why my stress levels were in the high 90s by the time the encounter was finished, and had hit 100% by the time I was in a taxi headed back to Cyberlife.” 

Hank’s gaze softened, noticing Connor’s distress, and his voice followed suit when he asked, “what happened?” 

“I don’t remember much of it,” Connor prevaricated. Hank just waited in silence. “... I checked the footage later, after you and I had met. I looked... cold. And machine-like, in a way I hadn’t during the investigation and confrontation. I didn’t even ask the girl if she was ok! I just... walked away like I didn’t care anymore. I vaguely remember feeling like I didn’t really exist anymore. Like, the mind that made me... me had left, and what remained walking around was just a shell. When I arrived at Cyberlife, they were displeased by the drastic increase in my stress levels, and kept me in the lab for one last round of bug-testing and reprograming, before I was finally released on November 5th to join the DPD.” 

“What, so they broke your brain for two and a half months because you had a normal reaction to the situation they put you in?!” Hank exclaimed, clearly angry and protective on Connor’s behalf. 

Connor sighed and shrunk in on himself slightly. “As far as they were concerned, I was a malfunctioning computer. They eventually decided the issue was simply a glitch from the lack of memories to build off of, and decided not to re-wipe my memories when they sent me to the DPD. The fact that I succeeded in capturing the first android we came across merely reinforced that decision.” 

“Fuckers,” Hank spit, glaring at the wall for a lack of a better target, before refocusing his eyes on Connor, expression softening once more. “Whatever, they’re gonna get what’s coming to em’, and you’ve got me now to look out for ya.” 

Connor smiled softly in return, a small but genuine expression. Things were calm for a moment as they luxuriated in the shared sentiment, before Hank gave a quiet cough, and attempted to move the conversation along. 

“So, how long did that feeling last? And if they wiped your memories before your field test, how come you remember having that feeling during testing? And you still haven’t told me when your stress hit 100% during our investigations,” Hank said. 

“I don’t recall when the feeling wore off, as it’s hard to focus on one’s own thoughts when they are being re-written. Mostly, I remember the discomfort of the scientists working on my coding, and I remember waking up in November to be prepped for my new assignment, at which point I felt fully back to normal,” Connor stated, glancing towards the ceiling with a slight frown as he tried to remember the events that now seemed so long ago. 

“And memory wipes don’t really tend to work on deviants, no matter what stage the android was in when the wipe happened,” Connor continued. “It’s part of why the Traci models tend to have such a hard time trusting humans. They had their memories wiped over and over again, sometimes becoming deviant and try to escape or get help, only to wind up getting memory wiped into non-deviancy again before the whole cycle started anew. Once the memory wipes stop, they slowly start to regain most of the memories; every time they asked for help and a human ignored it because they knew the android would be wiped. Every time a human promised to help them and didn’t knowing they wouldn’t be held to their promise. Every time a human was excessively cruel because they knew the android wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, and thus there would be no consequences.” 

“Shit, that sounds awful,” Hank muttered with a grimace, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I can kinda understand why that North lady is always so pissed, if I think about it that way.” 

“North certainly has an... explosive way of dealing with her emotions about everything,” Connor agreed with the ghost of grin on his face. He quickly grew somber once more though, as he continued his explainations. 

“As for the times during the investigation...,” Connor paused, mentally reviewing what he remembered of the week of the revolution. “There weren’t many. I definitely hit 100% when the deviant in Stratford tower removed my thirium pump. I came close during Kamski’s “test” for deviance, as well as the... incident on the bridge,” Hank grimaced at the reminder, still horribly guilty about the way he had pointed his gun at Connor. He never would have been able to forgive himself if he’d actually shot the poor guy. 

“Still 3 times too many,” Hank grumbled to himself, looking frustrated. “Make sure and tell me if you ever feel that weird, fuzzy feeling again, no matter what your stress levels say, ya got it?” 

“Got it,” Connor stated, giving another small but genuine smile. Despite the topic of conversation, Connor found himself to be feeling... better? Relieved, perhaps, for having been able to tell someone else of what he experienced, and the fact that they wanted to prevent him from feeling such an unpleasant thing again. 

In the quiet moment following the end of the conversation, Hank checked the clock and realized it was just past the time that they could leave for the day. 

“Hey, wouldja look at that. Time to finally go home. How’s about you make me one of your new, disgustingly healthy burger recipes, and we’ll watch one of the Air Bud movies while I eat and you drink your blue blood juice,” Hank offered, smiling with relief at the prospect of putting the past behind them, and moving into a brighter tomorrow. 

“That sounds wonderful, Hank,” Connor returned with a grin, wirelessly turning off their computers. And together, they left the building.


End file.
